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“My apologies, Lord Ellarian,” stammered the guard again. “She asked for you by name, and we weren’t sure whether she was one of your associates.”
Dimitri waved a hand in dismissal. The man resumed scurrying ahead, taking fearful looks back at the spymaster, who stood a head taller and was a good deal more imposing than the human guard. The rank air inside the dungeons did nothing to help his nerves. He stifled a retch at the foul stench of damp and decay, gritting his teeth against the insipid freezing chill of the place. A flick of magic warmed him and banished the scent, and sent a faelight blooming above him in the constricting corridor.
The guard led him to a cell at the end of a passage, heaving open the door with a grunt. Dimitrius sent his faelight in first. He stilled as their eyes locked, and his heart stopped for a beat before thundering back to life. It was her. Harper. The bottom dropped from his stomach.
Steel-grey eyes met his. In a moment, she changed from wide eyes to sharp anger. “You! Tell them to let me go at once!”
Dimitri raised an eyebrow. He had not been expecting that. Feisty, he thought with a flash of amusement. This was precisely why his thoughts had lingered over her rather more than he cared to admit was professional.
The guard’s mouth dropped open. He barged into the cell, an arm raised to strike her.
“Stop!” Dimitri barked. “There’s no need for that. Where is the item she carried? I need it at once.”
“M’pologies, Lord. It’s already been sent to the king.”
A flash of fear spread through Dimitri, but he crushed it swiftly. I hope not. He pressed his lips together in a thin line, biting back his anger. “Of course. Release her at once then.”
“M’pologies, Lord. The king’s orders.”
“You know my position.” Dimitri advanced. “Release her to my custody. I shall deal with the king. She’s one of mine.”
The man shrank away from the brunt of his full attention. Harper had the good sense to stay quiet, her attention flicking between them with confusion. She has no idea what she’s gotten herself into. Why is she here? The questions could wait. First he had to get her out of there, away from the king and his scrutiny, which Dimitri feared would eventually fall upon himself.
“I—I can’t, m’lord. King’s orders. I can give you her property, that’s all.”
“Fine,” he said after a pause. He knew she would have little on her worth anything to him, but it never hurt to collect such things for whatever useful means he could find. Harper glared up at him, though she remained huddled in the corner, covered in filth. She knew she was no match for him. He stared at her coldly in return, before spinning around and striding away. Part of his anger was directed at her, at how stupid she had been to walk right into the king’s hands. But most of it was just anger at himself. Fury that he had dallied too long.
The anger masked his fear, too. He could not let the Dragonheart fall into the king’s hands. He would never get another chance. In the wake of the thefts, the king had doubled the security upon his vaults. Besides which, if there was some way to link him to the theft, he was done for. Dimitri could not dwell on that. It was a dark path to walk down.
It provoked his desire for self-preservation and success more than ever. His thoughts jumped back to Harper, sitting in the cell. To his surprise, he felt a wisp of pity for her. He could still see her grey eyes staring him down. For a nobody, she had a compelling presence, a challenge in her gaze he rarely received from anyone given his fearsome reputation.
He stifled a dry laugh. She had no idea who she dealt with, free from such prejudices, yet she still disliked him. He supposed he had never given her any reason to feel otherwise. But even though he had demonstrated just how powerful he was, she did not seem to fear him. She was an interesting one.
“H-Here, m’lord.”
The guard thrust an armful at him containing a dagger, a small bracelet, and a pair of boots. He eyed the dagger. One of elven make. He had noticed the same one hanging at Aedon’s waist. What a charming gift, he thought disdainfully. Or did she steal it from him?
His entire being stilled when the charm on the woven leather bracelet caught the paltry light of the dirty lamps. Saradon’s Mark. With barely a hitch, his gaze passed to the clasp on the boots. He examined them for a second, appearing as nonchalant as he could, though his heart thundered in his chest. He cleared his throat, and the guard’s attention flicked to his face. “Has anyone else looked through these?”
“No, m’lord.”
With the guard’s attention on his face, Dimitri slipped the bracelet up his sleeve and thrust the rest of the things back at the man. “Then I leave them with you in case the king should desire them too.”
“M-M’lord?” the guard stuttered, holding the things and staring after him. Dimitri was already halfway out, striding toward the door and the faint hint of a fresh breeze, the silver bead burning cold upon the inside of his wrist.
The bracelet taunted him, revealing no secrets, as Dimitri reclined on his sumptuous couch. He fidgeted, unable to find comfort, turning the item over and over in his hands and examining every minute detail of the silver charm.
“Where did she get you from?” he breathed out with a shake of his head. Mysteries upon mysteries. He tried to piece together all he knew of her. The memory of her brazen silver eyes taunted him. What secrets was she hiding?
Harper, an uncommon name in Pelenor, who spoke the Common Tongue with a twang he was unfamiliar with. Definitely foreign. She was a companion of Aedon and his ragtag band—but that gave him little. They were all outcasts. Yet she seemed young, naïve, and inexperienced in comparison to them. Was she a new associate? Something did not quite fit. Then there was the matter of the mark upon her bracelet.
Dimitri growled, and his fingers drummed upon his leg as he rested. Did I send the Dragonheart to her somehow? Why her? Even with the bracelet, it was a tenuous connection at best. An answer eluded him. He huffed in annoyance. Still, her steel-grey gaze taunted him. She was temptation and distraction incarnate, and he could not afford to deviate now.
If he was sensible and callous, he would end her. She was nothing more than a loose end that could incriminate him. He had no confidence she would last through torture without revealing whatever she knew. Though he was certain she did not know the importance of what she carried, she could certainly incriminate him enough for the king to question why he had taken so long to recover the Dragonheart when he had plainly known where it was.
She could destroy him. His entire body seemed permanently flooded with nerves since his discovery that she had arrived in Tournai, but the more he dwelled upon it, the more he realised just how much trouble it could land him in. At the very least, the king would have grounds to charge him with treason for his disobedience. Without the Dragonheart and the means to raise Saradon, Dimitri’s plans were dead in the water.
I should kill her at once and be done with it. Even if that would make him as bad as the king. Something sour and heavy settled in his stomach at the thought. He fingered the charm again. She carried Saradon’s Mark. There was more to this than he could see—somehow, she mattered in this mess. And he had no idea how. Dimitri closed his eyes and let out a silent scream of frustration.
